


I Ain't Lookin' For It

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Practice Room Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin + Yixing stay late to work on some choreography. Yixing's waist is bothering him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Ain't Lookin' For It

"No, you did it _again,_ " Jongin says after Yixing flubs the _Growl Remix_ choreography for the fifth time in a row, and Yixing pulls a face that looks so childishly petulant, Jongin can't help but laugh.

"This is stupid," Yixing mutters, and then a long string of Chinese that Jongin catches every third word of: _dance_ , _fuck_ , _tired_.

They're alone in the practice room, the cheery blue sky with clouds on the far side of the wall reflecting in the full length practice mirrors. The others went back to the dorms hours ago and Jongin's body is finally starting to protest the extra practice. He really just wants to go home and sleep, but he doesn't want to leave Yixing here all by himself, either. Yixing's _never_ the one that has to stay late unless he's helping someone else out, but his old waist injury's making it hard to be precise, and the MAMAs performance is looming. They're on a deadline. No time for injuries.

"You want to take a break, hyung?" Jongin asks, uncapping his water bottle. Yixing rolls his eyes, hair limp with sweat and sticking to his temples.

"You can go, Jongin, I'm fine. I've almost got it."

Jongin's not really surprised that Yixing's being so short with him. Yixing's always helping the others clean up their moves—even Jongin needs one of Yixing's gentle reminders to balance his enthusiasm with precision from time to time, as much as he's embarrassed to admit it. But he's also been in Yixing's position before, and the strength in his own waist is often a source of frustration, so he's sympathetic. Can't really blame him for being frustrated when he's technically capable of something and his body's just not cooperating.

"Come on, seriously. Ten minutes." He points at the clock on the wall. "You can time it."

Yixing leans back against the mirror, sweaty shoulders leaving blurry smudges against the clean glass. Jongin hands him a towel to wipe his face and lowers himself to a sitting position on the floor at Yixing's feet.

"I don't know why you stayed," Yixing says, still slightly out of breath. His tone is acrid. "You don't need to be here. You've got it down."

Jongin shrugs. "I don't mind, hyung."

"Maybe I do, though," he retorts, snatching the water bottle out of Jongin's hand. Jongin stares up in surprise, rising back on his aching legs before he even realizes what he's doing.

"Stop," he says, pushing Yixing into the mirror. "Don't be like that." He pulls back a little, suddenly conscious of Yixing's waist. "You look fine, hyung. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep going."

Yixing goes quiet, shame creeping into his lowered eyes. He's normally very docile, and their relationship has never warranted any admonishments before, so this is foreign territory for both of them. Jongin wants to shake him by the shoulders, tell him about all the practices he was forced to sit out on and all the times he'd had to dance through an injury except _Yixing already knows all that_ and besides, it's not like it makes it any better.

"Sorry," he says, voice small, and it's so endearing to Jongin that he's leaning in to press his lips against Yixing's open mouth. Yixing freezes underneath Jongin, and then tilts his head just slightly, nose digging into Jongin's cheek, tongue tracing the smooth arch of his lower teeth. Yixing moans right down his throat when Jongin's hands fall to the small of Yixing's back, index and middle fingers digging into the tense flesh, and then shies away a moment later when Jongin hits a sensitive spot right next to his spine.

"Shit—are you okay?" he mutters.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Yixing nods against his forehead but the rigid tension is back in his muscles, each push of Jongin's fingers eliciting muffled seething, a flinch.

"Hold on," Jongin says, pushing Yixing away by the neck. Yixing looks at him curiously through narrowed eyes that stretch wide when he sees Jongin drop to his knees.

"Jongin?"

"Hold _on_ ," he repeats, looking up at Yixing from underneath his fringe. He wiggles his eyebrows and says, "Don't worry. Taemin's done this for me before. Better than pain patches." Jongin's got no idea what he's doing down here because it's _Yixing_ , they don't have this kind of relationship, they're not as familiar with each other as, say, Jongin is with Taemin, but it just seems—like the best way to get him to relax (and he's not lying, it really does work—for _him_ , anyway). Probably because Taemin's name has entered the equation, Yixing knows what to expect. He doesn't resist when Jongin pulls his sweatpants down around his knees, and he doesn't lose his nerve when Jongin pauses for a long moment, checks over his shoulder to make sure they're really alone before he pulls down the elastic of Yixing's boxer briefs.

Jongin gets right to it, licks his palm and pulls at Yixing's cock a few times until it stiffens underneath his touch.

Yixing's hand wanders down to clasp over Jongin's, adjusting his pace. "Too slow," he says, first in Chinese, then corrects himself. "Too gentle."

Jongin coughs out a quiet laugh. "Okay, okay," he says, knocking Yixing's hand away. "Let me—just—" and slides his lips around the head of Yixing's dick as comfortably as if he's been doing it for years.

The ticking of the clock seems louder now that he's down here. Everything's magnified—the quiet whining noises Yixing's making through his nose, the rustling of his sweatpants, the obscene slurp of Jongin's mouth every time he pulls back from Yixing only to come right back, tongue curling around the blunt tip and away, fist pulling in the opposite direction to meet his lips halfway down the shaft.

Yixing's head tips back, cracking sharply against the mirror. He hisses something between his clenched teeth, fingers winding around the hair at the crown of Jongin's hair so tightly that he feels some come loose, but he pushes harder, saliva leaking out of the corners of his mouth, nose buried in the wiry curls of Yixing's pubic hair. Yixing tugs once more and then he's coming in hot spurts down Jongin's throat, knees buckling down around Jongin's shoulders as he struggles to stay upright through his orgasm.

Jongin leans forward against Yixing's groin to swallow and catch his breath, face red and sweaty from exertion. Yixing looks down at Jongin, fingers curled around the sharp edge of his jaw. The frustration in his eyes has disappeared, replaced with a drowsy sort of gratitude. The room is silent but there's a noise down the hallway—somebody's coming, probably to use the space. They can't stay like this much longer.

"How's your back?" Jongin asks hoarsely. His voice is wrecked.

Yixing hums. "Still sore." Then, slyly: "Maybe we need to get Taemin in here."

Jongin laughs at the idea, shoulders shaking helplessly, because Taemin probably _would_. "I—think it's been ten minutes," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Let's call it a day, hyung. Try again tomorrow." Yixing laughs and pulls his sweatpants back up to his hips.

"I want to run it one more time."


End file.
